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<TH£ FEET 

OF 

THC TOUNG tME^i 



TH£ FEET 

OF 

TH£ YOUNG <MEU^ 

By 
RUDTARD KIPLINg 

Photographically 

Illustrated by 

J^EWIS % FREEMAJ^ 




QARDEJ^ CITY NEW TORK^ 

•T>0UBL8DAT, PAGE & COMPANY 
MCMXX 









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COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY 

RUDYARD KIPLING 

COPYRIGHT, 192O, BY 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION 
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN 



DEC 30 *9?C 

©C1A607219 



INT'HO'DUCriO^C 



Dear Mr. Kipling: 

/WONDER if you will recall a jaded photo- 
graphic print I showed you just before I 
returned to America, with the explanation that it 
was one of a number I had been collecting during 
the last fifteen years to illustrate as nearly as might 
be the various lines and expressions in "The 
Feet of the Young Men"? You recognised at a 
glance the familiar skyline of Kinchinjunga 
against its background of Himalayan storm-clouds, 
and the lorn figure grovelling in the snows of the 
foreground gave you instant clue to the title. 

"' Belly down on frozen drift!" you commented 
with a smile; "that must indeed have been a "long 
day's patience* for you." 

There was so much to talk about that night — 
with the Armistice so recently signed and the new 
world with its problems just emerging from the dis- 
solving war clouds— that I don't think I found 
further opportunity to tell you much if anything of 
my long and fascinating quest for photographs to 
illustrate the pathways where "The Feet of the 



INTRODUCTION 

Young Men" have trod, and of how I came to 
fare forth upon that quest; but now that the collec- 
tion seems as nearly complete as I can well be 
justified in hoping to make it, and the quest is 
therefore at an end, perhaps a few words of explana- 
tion will be in order. 

The first stirrings of the idea date back to the 
Spring of 1904. "The Five Nations" was not 
long from the press then, and some one had sent 
me a copy of it when I sailed with some California 
friends in their yacht for a year s cruise in the 
South Pacific. 

There was little time for reading in the early 
days of that eventful cruise {you know how much 
looking to an eighty -foot schooner needs in the fitful 
Trade latitudes), and it was not until the Hawaiias 
were long astern and the lazy, lolling days of the 
doldrums were upon us that any one found a 
chance to broach and browse among the boxes of 
books. So it was that I did not turn the pages of 
" The Five Nations" until a day or two after Lur- 
line had picked up the humming southeast Trades 
and won to an anchorage in the harbour of Taio- 
haie, in the island of Nukahiva of the northerly 
Marquesas cluster. Forthwith it- took its place 
with an earlier volume of your collected verse — 
that grimy sheaf of broken bindings and dog-eared, 



INTRODUCTION 

pencilled leaves which you may recall as the one in 
which I made marginal notation of my verification 
of your soundings "by the Little Paternosters , as you 
come to the Union Bank" where they buried 
Mary Gloster — and in the decade and a half 
which has elapsed since then I think I can count 
on my fingers the nights that it has laid beyond 
the reach of my outstretched hand. 

From the evening — / recall quite clearly that 
it was the hour of the slackening of the Trade Wind 
which heralds the fall of the swift Marquesan 
twilight — that I first read " The Feet of the Young 
Men" I have no longer envied Keats the thrill 
which he celebrated in his sonnet " On First Looking 
into Chapman s Homer" and I fancy that it must 
have been out of my inability to express myself in 
verse that the desire to pay my tribute in another 
way took shape. The poem, I saw {as soon as I 
was able to still the music of it in my ears and con- 
sider it objectively for a few moments), conjured 
up one clear picture after another — scores of them, 
vivid vignettes of river and sea, desert and mountain- 
top, at the ends of the earth, wherever the restless 
Feet of the Young Men have fared, and will fare, 
when the loosed Hunting Winds stream through 
the portals of the opened Four-way Lodge and the 
Call of the Red Gods awakens the Springtime-fret. 



I NTRODUCTION 

Why should not my tribute take the form of catching 
the spirit of these Springtime visions with my 
camera and bringing back such shadows of them 
as did not elude me to hand you as a token of the 
feelings your song had awakened in the breast of 
at least one Young Man of the Restless Feet ? 
The next day I landed from an outrigger canoe on a 
crescent of coral beach and pushed on into the 
verdant tangle of a tropical valley to make some 
studies of "the steaming stillness of the orchid- 
scented glade, when the blazoned, bird-winged 
butterflies flap through." I found everything but the 
butterflies. That was the beginning of" The Quest." 
I have never heard how long Keats took to write 
his "Homer" sonnet; but even if he spent a year 
on every line he still will have had two years the 
best of me. It was the spring of 1904. that I landed 
to photograph thai "orchid-scented glade" in the 
Marquesas, and to-day — when the just-finished 
prints of some fairly satisfactory studies I made 
in the Sierra Madres last week for "Who shall light 
them to that shrine ?" take their place as the last 
of the four-score and more photographs required 
completely to cover the poem— is on the threshold 
of the spring of 1920. Of course, there have been a 
few other activities crowded into those sixteen years, 
but there has never been a time when I have not 



INTRODUCTION 

been "on watch." At one time or another I have 
attempted some kind of a photograph upon prac- 
tically every subject conjured up by the lines of the 
poem. Naturally, many of these were not very 
successful, due to the difficult conditions under 
which the exposures have been made. One would 
. hardly be justified in expecting to find "the beaver 
busied" or the bull moose waiting the cow in the 
lakeside lilies every time he went out with his camera 
and flashlights; so it was inevitable that those who 
had devoted months and years to taking that kind of 
photographs, where I could only give occasional 
days or weeks, should have better records to show 
for their effort. Where this has been the case I have 
invariably given "pride of place" to the most effec- 
tive photograph. Many of the best pictures of my 
final selection were not taken by myself, and by so 
much have I deviated from my original resolve. 
The result will, I think however, justify that devia- 
tion, no matter how much of personal satisfaction I 
have had to sacrifice in not being able to claim the 
whole collection as the work of my own camera. 

In all, I figure that I have made something like 
six hundred trial exposures on subjects which 
promised to fulfil the letter or the spirit of one line 
or another, while the number of photographs of 
similar bearing taken by others is only slightly 



INTRODUCTION 

less. In my final selection about the same propor- 
tion is preserved. Something over half of these 
were taken by myself, or under my direction. 

The early years of the quest were not very fruit- 
ful, principally because you had directed the Feet 
of the Young Men in paths somewhat apart from 
those I chanced to be following at that time. Ta- 
hiti, Samoa, Fiji, Hawaii and the other islands 
we visited in the course of the South Sea cruise 
yielded only two or three photos which survived 
the final weeding out, and one of these — "To my 
palms and flying foxes" — may still be supplanted. 
The other — "The surf -bo at brings the rover" — 
/ took from the stern-sheets of the native whaler 
which was landing me on the beach of Malatoa, 
a little Samoan village on the west coast of Tutuila. 
The negative suffered a good deal from the wetting 
it received a half minute or so after it was exposed 
when the native in the bows — who was giving more 
attention to his singing than his piloting — missed 
the narrow passage and put the whaler broadside 
upon the reef. 

The Far East, Australia, South Africa, South 
America and the West Indies, among which I 
divided the three years following the termination of 
the South Pacific cruise, gave me a few studies 
which " had place" for a while, but with two or three 



INTRODUCTION 

exceptions these were subsequently superseded by 
photographs taken of more favourable subjects. 
On my return to California, the photographic 
files from former hunting trips in the Pacific North- 
west and Alaska — on all of which I had given a 
good deal of attention to snapping with my camera 
.as well as my rifle — turned out an unexpected 
wealth of finds. Several photos suggestive of 
11 noises of the night" — -flashlights of various kinds 
of game surprised in the darkness — and a number 
of camp and trail and mountain scenes were un- 
earthed in this lot {all taken, of course, before the 
Quest began), while a memorable hunting trip to 
the delta of the Colorado, in old Mexico, yielded 
two studies which had hitherto eluded me. The 
copper-coloured Indian, who is '''waiting like a 
lover" on the desert mountain skyline, is Monanza, 
my Cocopah guide. I regret to have to confess 
that, in "real life," waiting was about the worst of 
several things which Monanza could not be counted 
upon to do, for his precipitate haste in opening up 
with his old "forty-four" — firing low-power black 
powder, of course — spoiled the only two chances 
we had at mountain sheep on the trip. He made 
poetical if inadvertent compensation, however, for 
the vigorous gestures employed by my hunting 
companion in trying to impress upon the culprit 



INTRODUCTION 

what would happen to him in the event that he 
did not hold his fire in the future when sheep were 
in range turned out quite the best pictorial inter- 
pretation I have of" Unto each his . . . sign." 
Several months between the coast of China and 
the upper Yangtse in the latter part of ipio added 
nothing permanent to my collection , but in the Phil- 
ippine Archipelago , to which I fared next, luck 
was better. Jolo, notorious for its juramentados 
— or ghazis, as you will have known them along 
the northwestern frontier of India — furnished 
what was my ultimate choice for "the pilebuilt 
village, where the sago-dealers trade" and a com- 
posite of a water-front street in the " Chino" 
section of the same colony of cut-throats, and a quay- 
side snapshot up a muddy estuary indenting the 
east coast of Siam, gave me the only ensemble 
/ could imagine that would suggest "the reek of 
fish and wet bamboo." The Philippines also 
furnished what proved to be the most engaging of 
the many "gentle yellow pirates" I have tracked 
down with my camera— a Bagobo, of the island of 
Mindanao, with a smile as broad as the blade of his 
murderous barong. The chef d'oeuvre of the 
Philippine bag, however, was a picture which I 
think you have already seen — "Yellow," waiting, 
loverlike, behind his bunch of waxen Easter lilies ! 



INTRODUCTION 

The summer months of 1911, spent shuttling 
back and forth across the Line among the Dutch 
East Indies, furnished endless opportunities for 
further studies of "pile-built villages" and "gentle 
yellow pirates" but nothing came out of it which 
suited me quite as well as the pictures I had al- 
ready secured in the Philippines. "Quick I ah, 
heave the camp-kit over V taken on the beach of 
Manoekeri, Dutch New Guinea, was, I think, 
the only picture to "qualify" among the several 
score which I took in all parts of this loveliest and 
most picturesque of tropical island groups. 

All along through the Malay States and Siam, 
and then up and down the Irrawadi,from Rangoon 
to Bhamo, on the Chinese border of Burma, and 
back, I was lured on to study after study of " The 
steaming stillness of the orchid-scented glade" 
(just as I had been along the Orinoco and Amazon 
and Parana in South America, and in almost every 
other densely tropical region I had visited), but 
in the end it was a picture taken — not by myself, 
and not in the tropics- — on the Teetsa, near Dar- 
jeeling, which was first choice. In its literal 
tapestry of flowering orchids, the photograph 
brooked no rival, lovely as were a score of studies 
of the same subject I already had in hand. 

First and last nothing baffled me more than 



I NTRODUCTION 

"misty sweat-bath 'neath the line" and I shudder 
to think of the number of malarial germs I must 
have sucked into my system through endeavouring 
to transfer to a negative the miasmic vapours of 
pretty nearly every swampy marshy and bayou from 
Guayaquil to Sandakan. The words seem almost 
to generate a taste of quinine in my mouth to this 
very day. But mists, it appears, are not readily 
photographable, especially on films badly of their 
"edge" from absorbing tropical moisture. With 
one fair study to my credit — made on the Esse- 
quebo, in British Guiana — and some dozens of 
indifferent ones, I had about given up of illus- 
trating the expression effectively when a photograph 
taken in the Terai of Nepal, during King George's 
hunt there in ign, was brought to my attention. 
Permission to make use of it relieved me of further 
anxiety in the matter of "misty sweat-bath" even 
though Nepal misses being "'neath the Line" 
by a number of degrees. I am sure you will agree 
with me that the matter of latitude is incidental to 
the almost perfect interpretation of the phrase this 
picture gives. I feel quite sure that it would have 
been many years before I myself could have taken 
anything to compare with it. 

I might mention here that "Where the high 
grass hides the horseman" was also taken during 



INTRODUCTION 

the hunting King George enjoyed following the igu 
Durbar. The head and shoulders of that sterling 
sportsman himself may be just made out, where he is 
mounted on an elephant showing through a break 
in the grass in the middle distance. I had long 
been keeping a study I had made on the Pampas of 
Argentina in 1906 to illustrate this line, but the 
towering jungle grass of this Indian picture is so 
impressive that there was no question of its being 
first choice. 

The Great Adventure of the Quest was now at 
hand. Lingering in India after the Durbar, I 
found myself on the Northwestern Frontier in the 
spring of 191 2 {you may recall our swapping 
Khyber yarns when I was down to see you just 
previous to my going to the Grand Fleet), and 
from there one could almost hear the drip of the 
eaves of "the world's white roof -tree." Everyone 
told me that it was too early to hope to get over the 
higher passes — that I would never get beyond the 
valley walls of Kashmir; but the "old Spring- 
fret" was strong upon me and I simply had to go. 
I may as well confess at once that the oath I so 
lightly swore, "to keep it on the horns of Ovis Poli," 
has, up to the present, never been kept outside of 
the walls of the South Kensington Museum. The 
fine old ram whom I have done the honour of choos- 



I NTRODUCTION 

ing to appear with that title is, I believe, an Ovis 
Canadensis, and he did not jail to my rifle. 

Yet my attempt to clamber to the " Roof -tree" 
must ever remain as a most memorable experience. 
Avoiding the main tonga road by Rawalpindi, I 
made my way to the Vale by one of the little used 
footpaths through Jammu, enjoying some notably 
good panther shooting in the way. Here, too, I 
had a couple of meetings with your old friend, 
" Adam-zad" whom I found rather easier to stop 
(with a gun of "the newer style" of course) than 
his weightier and bulkier cousin, the Alaskan 
" silver-tip." The latter, by the way, in common 
with Adam-zad and our late enemy, the Hun, has 
the habit of " kamerad-ing" in a tight corner; but 
the upright posture, and the paws "like hands in 
prayer" only serve to uncover a heart which is 
otherwise rather effectively masked by a very broad 
shoulder-blade. 

As I had been warned, I found the snow still 
heavy on the mountains ringing the matchless valley, 
and it was only at the third attempt — and then 
rather by good luck than anything else — that I 
got my ponies over the Zoji-la and on into half- 
Tibetan Ladakh. The still loftier Karakoram, to 
the north of Leh — ordinarily the most favourable 
route to the Pamirs and the haunts of the Ovis 



I NTRODUCTION 

Poll — was reported impossible to negotiate for many 
weeks yet, and I reluctantly gave it up without 
attempting a passage which would have had small 
chance of success. As a forlorn hope, however, 
I fared on down the big bend of the Indus to Hunza- 
Nagar, on the off chance that the way might 
be open across the Hindukush; but here, too, the 
ice and snow barrier proved insurmountable , at 
least to one of my' very restricted Himalayan ex- 
perience. 

Except for Ovis Poli, this jaunt was rich in its 
yield of studies for the " Roof -tree" series, including 
no end of "trusty, nimble trackers" among whom I 
also picked a "velvet-footed" one as best qualified 
to "guide them to their goal." The reason that 
Kinchinjunga — some hundreds of miles east of 
the Roof of the World proper — appears in the back- 
ground of "the long day's patience, belly down on 
frozen drift" is that the mountain in the negative of 
my original study for this line was spotted in devel- 
oping. 

My continued westward journey , through Persia, 
Mesopotamia and Syria, and a later trip up the 
Nile, furnished a number of desert studies which 
bade fair to find place for a while, but ultimately 
all were crowded out by more effective pictures 
which became available from the wastes of the Amer- 



INTRODUCTION 

ican Southwest. One of the former, you may be 
amused to know, was taken at the then railhead of 
the Bagdad Railway near Samara, on the Tigris, 
and was intended to illustrate "Where the rails 
run out in sand-drift." 

My only visit to the Baltic — where I went just 
after the signing of the Armistice on the staff of 
the Allied Naval Commission — was not made 
under conditions in the least favourable to taking 
photographs to illustrate a portion of the poem 
which had always made an especial appeal to me. 
There was a most explicit prohibition against 
using cameras except aboard ship, and even had 
this not been so the fact that our movements were 
strictly limited, no less than the extremely dense 
fog that prevailed during all of the time we spent in 
German waters, would have made it impossible 
to accomplish much. " The shallow Baltic where 
the seas are steep and short" was taken over the 
weather rail of the Viceroy — you may recall my 
telling you of the consummate skill with which 
that destroyer was handled by her commander the 
time she came so near to ramming the ex-raider 
Moewe in the fog of Kiel Fiord — on a windy 
afternoon off the island of Rugen. The rest of 
the lot are selected from such sailing pictures as I 
had, or could get hold of, and I have not been very 



I NTROD UCTION 

well satisfied with them. There is a suggestion 
of the spirit of the lines in some of them, but for 
the most part I am afraid you will find them rather 
disappointiyig. 

In reviewing the Quest in retrospect, one of the 
most gratifying things to recall is the enthusiastic 
cooperation I always had whenever I had to go to 
some one else for an indispensable photograph 
which had eluded my own best efforts. I think 
this must have been because that in a man which 
will make him go to the trouble of taking Nature 
photographs will also render him especially sus- 
ceptible to the appeal of " The Feet of the Young 
Men." From the native shop in Manila, where I 
found " Yellow" and his Easter lilies, to the Bureau 
of Forestry in Washington, where they looked me 
up "that blackened timber" and "that racing 
stream with the raw, right-angled log-jam at the 
end," no amount of trouble seemed too great to take 
once they understood what I was driving at. So, 
too, at the American Museum of Natural History, 
where I finally netted the "blazoned, bird-winged 
butterflies," and at the New York Zoological So- 
ciety, where "my little wailing lemurs" {how many 
nights' sleep have I not missed in vain endeavours 
to take flashlights of the sly hypocrites in their 
native habitat?) were at last treed. But more than 



I NTRODUCTION 

to any others, I am indebted to Mr. Albert Britt, 
Editor of Outing, of New York, and to Mr. J. A. 
MacGuire, Editor of Outdoor Life, of Denver, 
for permission to turn through their voluminous 
files of Nature photographs and to make use of any 
suited to my purpose. To the unidentified "out- 
of-doors-men" whose photographs have come to me 
in this way, I wish also to acknowledge my great 
obligation. 

Several months ago I was showing to a New York 
friend a number of my more recent finds for the 
"Young Men" collection, and incidentally de- 
tailing for him a few of the incidents, such as I 
have mentioned in this letter, in connection with 
my running down of certain other pictures. 

" That's all very interesting" he said after a 
while; " but from a practical standpoint I think 
you have gone to a lot more trouble than there was 
any need of. Between the various New York photo 
agencies, I am almost certain that I could find, 
inside of a week, pictures that would illustrate 
acceptably every line and expression you have been 
ten years and more covering." 

About all I found to say to this was, "But look 

at the fun I would have missed doing it that way "; 

for, you see, I was not — and am not — at all 

sure but what he said was quite correct. But even 



INTRODUCTION 

if that chanced to be the case, I should still be able 
to find my justification and consolation in a slight 
paraphrase of the words of your "Explorer": 

"Anybody might have done it but — the Whisper 
came to me /" 

If the pictures, when they reach you, give you 
the smallest fraction of the pleasure in the perusal 
that they have me in the finding I shall be more 
than satisfied. I know that you will understand 
why I had to find all that I could of them in my 
own way. 

Sincerely yours, 
Lewis R. Freeman. 

Pasadena, California, 
February 8, ig20. 



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He must go — go — go away from here ! 

On the other side the world he's overdue. 
' 'Send your road is clear before you 

when the old Spring-fret comes o'er you, 

And the Red Gods call for you ! 



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Let him follow with the others , for the Young Men s 
feet are turning 




To the camps of proved desire 




— and known delight 



Let him go — go — go away from here! 

On the other side the world he's overdue. 
'Send your road is clear before you when the 
old Spring-fret comes o'er you, 

And the Red Gods call for you! 



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Do you know that racing stream 

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To a silent, smoky Indian that we know- 




To a couch of new-pulled hemlock, with the 
starlight on our faces, 
For the Red Gods call us out and we must go ! 



They must go — go — go away from here! 

On the other side the world they 're overdue. 
' 'Send your road is clear before you when the 
old Spring-fret comes o'er you, 

And the Red Gods call for you! 



II 




Do you know the shallow Baltic where the seas are 
steep and short. 




Where the bluff \ lee-boarded fishing-luggers ride? 




Do you know the joy of threshing leagues to leeward 
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For the Red Gods call me out 
and I must go ! 

He must go — go — go away from here ! 

On the other side the world he's overdue. 
'Send your road is clear before you 

when the old Spring-fret comes o'er you, 

And the Red Gods call for you ! 



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Do _yo« &«ow the pile-built village where the sago- 
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He must go — go — go away from here! 

On the other side the world he's overdue. 
'Send your road is clear before you 

when the old Spring-fret comes o'er you, 
And the Red Gods call for you! 



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and I must go ! 

He must go — go — go away from here! 

On the other side the world he's overdue. 
'Send your road is clear before you when the 
old Spring-fret comes o'er you, 

And the Red Gods call for you! 




Now the Four-way Lodge is opened- 




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Now the Smokes of Council rise- 
Pleasant smokes^ 




Ere yet 'twixt trail and trail they choose — 



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Who shall light them to that shrine ? 



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Velvet-footed, who shall guide them to their goal ? 







Unto each 
the voice 
and 
vision: 





Unto each his spot 




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and sign — 




Lonely mountain in the Northland, 





Misty sweat-bath 'neath the Line- 
And to each a man 
that knows his 
naked soul ! 







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black 



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or beat of train — 



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Or the glaring flats discover- 







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Or the surf -bo at brings the rover — 






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When the old Spring-fret 

comes o'er you, 

And the Red Gods call for you ! 



THIS VOLUME WAS PRINTED BY 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
GARDEN CITY, LONG ISLAND, N. Y. 

THE PRINTING WAS COMPLETED 

IN THE MONTH OF SEPTEMBER 
MCMXX 










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